


Same Guilt the Day After As the Day Before

by mandaree1



Series: Teen!Delinquent AU [4]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, Mabel is tempermental, Mentions of self-harm, Not fluffy or happy, Teen!Pines, They both have depression, they both need help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 12:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6470329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandaree1/pseuds/mandaree1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mabel has a long night and takes it out on others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Same Guilt the Day After As the Day Before

Mabel doesn't bother trying to hide her arms the morning after.

Dipper, now, he freaks out. He pulls on some long sleeves and worries the fabric like it were a lifeline he didn't want. She puts on her newest sweater- proudly labeled "I'm screwed up and have a sick right hook."- and slips her nose ring into her front pocket. It's more of a pleasantry than anything else; she won't be wearing it on a day like today.

She tries to skip down the stairs, finally surrendering halfway down. This just isn't a day worth skipping for.

"Mabes..." Dipper warns, sensing the storm bubbling up under the surface, but he sounds drained. Defeated. "Maybe you should-"

She answers, voice flat. "I'm not cutting."

The terminology makes him wince and hang his head. She knows she should feel bad- _does_ feel bad, really- but all she can think is that was probably the way he'd hung his head, ashamed and disappointed, when he found out just who'd ruined the happy little world they'd lived in.

Sorry. She didn't sleep last night. She's bitter. If you're looking for happy, fun Mabel, it might be best to wait for tomorrow.

It's hard, sometimes. She knows that's no excuse. Hard to keep smiling, hard to keep moving. Every step she takes feels like a mistake.

Deep down, she wonders why Bill didn't kill her. Some days, she wishes he had.

But she doesn't regret making a deal. No, she's too selfish for that. The thought of her brother leaving like Ford and Stan left each other still keeps her awake at night. The fact that he almost _did_ has brought on either one or many panic attacks. You decide.

Mabel knows she's a bad person. She knows she deserves the cuts on her arms. That didn't mean she couldn't still have fun, or make people laugh; do things she enjoyed and commit crimes.

It's just... hard to ignore, sometimes, is all.

It feels like every single problem the world has is her fault. Isn't it, in a way? If Weirdmageddon had become a permanent thing, everyone would be dead. You don't have any problems when you're dead; unless you count coming back as a ghost. If it hadn't, she would've ended up repeating Stan's mistakes. She loves Stan, really, she does, but she doesn't want that. In a metaphorical basement with a metaphorical portal and a metaphorical brand and not-so metaphorical coffin she was supposed to be in, searching desperately for her not-so metaphorical brother, who wouldn't even thank her when she found him.

Mabel reaches up to scratch at her burn scar tattoo. They _hurt_ , sometimes. Like lava boiling just under her skin.

It only makes sense that they do, she supposes. Stan's burn was a form of charm in its own right- even if it hadn't started out that way, he _made_ it something entirely new-, and the symbol of a shooting star was her special signature; carved into her soul by an evil triangle demon.

The artist had been common, but their work was _magical_. She was pretty sure they'd heard that one before.

She stumbles around the school in a daze, vision blurring. She wishes she was dunk. Heck, she wishes she was dead.

A boy winks at her in the hall. She doesn't know his name. Mabel remembers when she and Dipper called him 'the objective' and snuck into his house and trashed his computer, the figure of that poor, beaten boy lying on the bathroom floor on their minds and in their hearts. He'd never been punished for it; it'd been considered a veiled threat, not a picture of truth. They were all so _oblivious_.

Mabel was the one to find him. She'd cleaned him up and gave him a hug, blood burning with rage.

She remembers Dipper, beaten and tired when he'd fallen into her twisted wonderland, and Dipper, beaten and tired, slumped over the seat of the toilet, arms covered in bloody scratches, a razor blade by his side.

Mabel had put a hand on his knee, crouched, and plucked the sharp bit of metal from the sink. With a sort of grace that only came from practice, she copied every cut without another glance. Dipper's eyes had bore holes in her shoulders. The tattoos burned her skin in his stead.

"There." She whispered finally, feeling triumphant and defeated all at once. "Now, we match."

Her fist slams into his face. How dare he walk around like he owns the place? How dare he hurt people for no reason other than sick enjoyment? How dare he try to _flirt_ with her after all he's done? (Deep down, she knows these sorts of things have reasons behind them; abuse or inferiority complex, or so on, but she doesn't care right now.)

He stumbles, curses, and goes to return the favor. Mabel doesn't fight him- it's good to finally feel something other than numbness. If the feeling has to be pain, then so be it.

Her brother, always the hero, crashes into him from the side. His face looks dead; anger or despair, or a rare mix of both.

"You should've stayed home." Is all he says.

"I hate staying home." _I hate being alone._

"I should've stayed with you." He rectifies. Mabel doesn't stop fighting until the security men pull away, her face utterly blank. She neither screams or cries.

* * *

 

They sit in the principal's office, waiting for their parents to arrive to discuss punishment. They'd been carefully neutral on the subject of her battered arms, but this just won't stand, and they know it. Mabel, head in his lap, quietly allowed Dipper to card his fingers through her hair.

"I'm sorry." She doesn't feel guilty, and that makes it worse.

"We shouldn't have picked a fight." He murmurs.

" _I_ picked the fight. I punched him."

"I didn't exactly stop you."

She shouldn't need stopping. "I'm a bad person."

The thought had once driven her to tears. Now, the words slide off her tongue with ease, worthless.

Dipper pulls her into a hug. His limbs are stiff. "If you're a bad person, Mabes, then so am I."

Mabel doesn't answer.

 _I_ made _you into a bad person_. She doesn't doubt the truth behind those words.

**Author's Note:**

> There's no protagonist here. Nor is there a specific antagonist.


End file.
